


Runaways

by LvL90BioticGod



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Public Nudity, Sexual Content, Smut, Violence, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LvL90BioticGod/pseuds/LvL90BioticGod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events that transpired at Kirkwall, Hawke and his lover, Anders, escaped to live their lives as fugitives among the now free circle mages. It wasn't long until even their mage allies felt threatened by Anders' presence, casting him away along with Hawke to journey on their own. Still stricken with guilt and confusion from his past actions, Hawke becomes determined to brighten his lover's spirits, one way or another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bloody Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! My first chapter to my first DA fanfic here, so here's hoping to a promising start. Please enjoy!

Hawke was known as many things. An apostate, thug, orphan, defender of the free mages, Champion of Kirkwall, yes, but by no means an outdoorsman. The city walls of his past homes had treated him well enough, giving him no cause to wander about the wilds that lurked beyond his doorstep. Not that he didn't have a sense of adventure, of course. He would try anything once.

He marveled at the towering pines that embodied the dense forests, the sweet, sticky smell of sap clinging tight to his robes. He loved the result of a long trek up a hill or mountain, closing his eyes with arms outstretched to embrace the wind. Not even the cold could dampen his spirits, the warmth of a fire under an open sky leaving him just as content as he’d been back in his bed in Kirkwall. Strangely enough, he had become quite happy just wandering about, though his endeavors had not been accomplished alone.

“Well?” a voiced teased, drawing Hawke out from his thoughts. “Are you coming or not?”

A smirk tugged at the Champion’s lips, his fingers deftly working to liberate himself of his robes. “Just thought I’d give you time to prepare, ‘is all.”

Hawke’s grin broadened as the voice retorted with a loud snort. “Hawke, please, as if this would be the first time I've seen you _'au naturel'_.”

The voice had been that of Anders, the man’s shoulders bobbing up from the dark waters of the lake. For weeks he and Anders had been journeying along the Free Marches, scaling rolling hills and crossing rapid rivers, seeking shelter in whatever decrepit ruin or cave they could find. Such was the life of two rogue apostates, or better yet, apostates stuck right in the middle of a war on magic.

“ _Au naturel_ , huh?” Hawke murmured, rising steadily from where he had been resting. His robes were already loosened, a gentle breeze causing the fabric to flutter open almost dramatically, as if Hawke would have it any other way. With a smirk playing on his lips, he arched his back, the delicate material slowly inching down across his shoulders before falling to a heap at his feet. “That wouldn't happen to be Orlesian, would it?”

Anders' gaze trailed down Hawke’s chest shamelessly, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. Once satisfied, his eyes flickered back to meet his lover’s, a dark brow arched. “It might be,” he crooned, swimming closer to the shore. “Is it such a shock that I appear cultured?”

“Yes,” Hawke quipped, his boots already pushed to the side as he fiddled with his trousers. “We are a couple of apostate hobos, after all.”

Anders chuckled warmly as he continued to inch closer to the shore. His hair had been let down, light golden locks free to graze his shoulders instead of being bound by its usual ponytail. The scruff on his face had become thicker than he was used to, giving the mage a more grizzled look, a look Hawke didn't mind at the slightest. His body, now mostly left unconcealed by the murky water, gleamed in the sun, beads of liquid streaming across his broad shoulders before trailing down his chest.

The sight was distracting, Hawke would admit, but by no means did it hinder him of his stripping. His trousers eventually gave way at his waist, the slightest shift of his hips sending them tumbling down with the rest of his clothing. Hawke then stepped forward triumphantly, arms outstretched as if to say ‘look at me!,’ a boastful grin stretched wide across his lips.

Anders' scoffed playfully at the sight. “Now, if you’re quite done showing off…” The blond suddenly lunged forward, strong arms slicing through the water and sending a shower of liquid to rain down on Hawke.

Instinctively, Hawke recoiled, his body turning away from the oncoming wave. “Hey!” he exclaimed, a shaky gasp escaping passed his lips as the cold water met his bare flesh. He whipped his head round rapidly to shoot Anders a look of playful warning. “Oh, now you've done it,” he teased, hastily darting towards the water’s edge.

A bout of giddy laughter bubbled out from Anders’ throat, his head arching back towards Hawke as he frantically attempted to make his escape towards deeper waters. Unfortunately for him, Hawke was too swift. The Champion sloshed through the shallow waters far from gracefully, his own laughter billowing out from his chest. Once deep enough, he lunged forward with a dive, catching up with Anders almost instantly. Hawke then shoved his arms into the water, frenziedly showering Anders with waves and waves of splashes.

Anders turned towards Hawke with his arms raised, attempting to shield his face from the bombardment of water, laughter spilling out from his lips. “Alright, Hawke, alright!” he gasped, wildly reaching out for the other man’s arms. He managed to grip Hawke’s wrists, pulling him in close and tightening his hold. Small bursts of laughter still tumbled out from Hawke, but the longer he met Anders’ gaze, the deeper his breathing became. Anders smiled warmly, his grip loosening around his lover’s wrists. “Alright?” he asked, his voice a near whisper.

Hawke grinned, taking his now free hands and cupping Anders’ face, drawing him in close. “Alright,” he breathed. Their lips brushed as they shared a tender kiss, Anders’ arms gliding across Hawke’s collarbone to link around his neck. Hawke breathed deeply at the tickle of the supple touch, deepening the kiss as his hands began to slink down the mage’s shoulders. Anders chuckled softly into Hawke’s lips, pulling away to stare into a set of puzzled amber eyes. “What's wrong?” Hawke asked, head tilting curiously to the side. “It was the tongue, wasn’t it? Too much? Too little?”

Anders grinned at his lover’s teasing, shaking his head. “No, just...” the mage turned away with a small sigh, “not here.”

Hawke arched a brow, his smirk slowly spreading further across his lips. “And here I thought you were the adventurous type,” he taunted.

Anders huffed out a short breath, turning his head back before mirroring his lover’s sardonic look. “Obviously you've never tried making love in a lake before,” he retorted.

Hawke’s eyes widened slightly, a small chuckle rising from his throat. He was aware that Anders had been with others before him, not that it bothered him in the slightest. He too had been far from virginal by the time they had met. “Oh? And you have?”

Anders nodded, rolling his shoulders as his grip loosened from behind Hawke’s neck. “Not as romantic as you’d think. Lots of splashing, lots of _‘is it in yet?’_ s.”

Hawke’s lips parted into a grin, tongue darting out to graze his upper lip. “Are you sure that wasn't just a personal problem?” he teased, a hand slipping down through the water to ghost past Anders’ flaccid member.

Anders’ brow furrowed, his hips swiftly darting away from Hawke’s reach before landing a halfhearted blow across his cheek. Hawke chuckled giddily, wincing from the playful slap before grazing it with his palm. Anders attempted to keep up his bitter facade, but ultimately gave up, grinning with a small laugh of his own. “You ass,” he murmured.

“I aim to please,” Hawke quipped back, sneaking in a brief smooch on Anders’ scruffy cheek.

Anders chuckled, his fingers brushing over his stubble as he stared dreamily back at Hawke. After a few moments of shared silence he sucked in a deep breath, head turning back towards the shore as he exhaled. “We should probably…”

Anders trailed off, his lips parting as worry began to creep upon his features. Puzzled, Hawke too turned back towards land, a sense of dread slowly washing over him from the sight that greeted him. Men, a group of five or so, were trekking down the hillside towards the lake. Men in heavy plated armor, men with swords, with shields, their insignia not only branded on their coats of arms but also in their demeanor, men who would call themselves templars.

“Fuck,” Anders breathed sharply, surging forward through the water back towards shore.

Hawke often forgot what the word ‘fugitive’ meant, how the title effected him. It was easy to let his grip loosen around his past, like sand slipping through his fingers, his palm left bare and ready to take hold of the next fleeting endeavor. Rarely were things ever so simple. What he thought of as sand had been blood, the stain of its scent leaving a trail that no hound dog templar would ever let go cold. He and Anders had become prey to the chantry, and with no foxhole to scamper into, they were left with little choice but to go down with teeth bared and gnashing. 

Hawke breathed in deeply, his arms cutting through the water as he followed Anders in suit. 

First to reach land, Anders hastily gripped his staff from his pile of belongings, turning to face the oncoming threat with flame in his eyes. The templars had noticed them far before they had reached the shoreline, their swords already drawn as they charged forward. Hawke was still sloshing through the lake water as the first of the group swooped down upon Anders, sending a wave of panic coursing through his body.

Anders, equipped with nothing but his staff, stood vigilant against the templar, twirling his weapon before sending a force that lifted his attacker off his feet. The man collided hard against the side of a cliff, the loud crunch of armor and bone a true enough signifier of his death.

Finally, Hawke was out of the lake, the bite of the air across his bare skin causing his hair to stand on end. His eyes flickered towards where his staff lay, leaning against a boulder next to his heap of clothes. Without thinking he darted towards his weapon, his path only to be blocked by a large, burly templar wielding a greatsword. Hawke huffed loudly in frustration, eyeing the templar distastefully. “Come now, this is hardly a fair fight,” he sneered, tone bitingly sarcastic. The templar merely growled at the remark, leaning forward and preparing to charge. A slight grin slinked across Hawke’s lips, his feet spreading to stand his ground. “Fine,” he breathed, concentrating on the cold that nipped at his body. “Have it your way.”

With a mighty cry the templar surged forward, sword at the ready and eager to split Hawke in two. Despite the deafening drumming of his heart, Hawke maintained his focus, frost already beginning to nip at his fingertips. Five meters, four, three, two, one. It was now or never. Hawke, gathering all the will he had, thrusted his arms forward, a cone of cold swelling forth from his palms and encasing the templar in a wall of thick ice.

The Champion blinked, his eyes marveling at the large sword that hung mere inches from his skull. “Well,” he sighed, smirking to himself as he brushed past the frozen templar, “I _did_ tell him it was an unfair fight.” Wasting no more time with smart remarks, Hawke reached for his staff, feeling it’s power surge through his palm and up his veins. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath, electricity flickering off his tongue, flames fervently brewing in his blood. Now it was a fight. Now it was fun.

Swiftly, Hawke turned to meet the next templar, a sizable fellow wielding a longsword and one of those Maker damned tower shields. Hawke huffed, brushing his damp hair out from his eyes. “Ready to join Icecube over there?” he chimed, lips curling into a devilish grin. The templar wavered, clutching his shield high and close as he pondered his next move. Hawke’s brow furrowed, his bare feet treading carefully over the rocky shore. This man was no fool.

A sharp breath suddenly escaped the templar, his sword outstretched before him as he lunged forward. Hawke reacted quickly, darting past the blow and ready to counter it with a spell, or so he thought. The first attack was a feint, the templar’s heavy shield coming down hard against Hawke’s vulnerable flesh, sending him tumbling to the ground. Shock rang through Hawke’s ears, his head throbbing behind blurred vision. He struggled to breathe, lungs grasping at air that seemed to cling to the back of his throat. Not good, he thought. Not good at all.

Within moments the templar’s shadow was looming over him, sword raised high and ready to deliver the final blow. Hawke’s breath hitched at the sight, his body twisting to avoid the blade, but failing. The sword’s edge sliced at his side, a sharp cry scraping past Hawke’s throat as he writhed from the pain. Teeth bared, the Champion’s eyes met his assailant’s, hand gripping the gash that marred his ribs. He could feel it, the power, the temptation, the warmth of it pooling inside his palm. Survive, he thought. You have to survive. But there was no need.

“Hawke!”

A thundering voice pierced through the air, the sheer force of it causing the templar to take a step back from Hawke. It was Anders, his body rigid and trembling, skin gleaming from the crimson of the two corpses that laid at his feet. He took one shaky step forward, his breath shallow and heavy, eyes cutting through the templar like daggers. “You will not take him from me,” he murmured, his words as hot as scalding water. Fine cracks began to mar his body, each glowing a bright, harsh blue. His eyes became clouded, the same glow enveloping them, changing them. Anders had vanished, a far deadlier creature now in control. His staff twirled in his right hand, sparks flying and crackling, eager to bite. “You will not take him again!” the voice howled, sending the templar tumbling backwards onto his rear.

“A..a..abomination!” the frightened man trembled, cowering away from the enraged spirit. Without hesitation, the spirit stormed forward, sparks now sizzling and popping in all directions. The templar panicked, continuing to backpedal even when he had reached the waters of the lake. “Please!” he clamored, splashing wildly. “Mercy!”

The spirit seethed, its staff now raised high above its head. With Justice there was no mercy, no. There was only vengeance, and with vengeance, there was only death. With one powerful strike, Justice brought down its staff, the rod penetrating the templar’s armor and impaling his chest. The entire lake lit up with an electric fire, sparks springing and dancing across the water’s surface. The templar’s body writhed and spasmed from the electrical currents coursing through him, his flesh charring away as his blood boiled. Within moments he was dead.

It’s blood lust quenched, Justice yanked it’s staff from the corpse, the remains disintegrating into ash. Hawke simply watched helplessly from where he lay, the pure awe and fear caused by what he had witnessed before him the sole things keeping him conscious. "Anders," he murmured, wincing at the sharp, aching pain at his side. "I, uh, think he's dead."

Anders’ body slowly turned, his eyes meeting Hawke’s before falling upon his wound. His lips parted with a small gasp, his eyes melting back to that of a golden brown, features weighted with worry. Once again he was in control. In the short time it took for Anders to sprint to Hawke’s side he had returned fully back to his old self, the blue light retreating within his skin. “Oh Hawke, oh love,” he breathed frantically, pushing Hawke’s hand aside to examine the gash. The wound gushed with blood, the loss of it already leaving Hawke feeling faint.

“Anders…” he began to mumble, but Anders would have none of it.

“Hush, you,” he chastised, a bloodied finger drawing over his lover’s lips. “I need to concentrate while I do this, which means none of your jesting.”

Hawke chuckled weakly, the taste of iron filling his mouth. “Spoilsport.”

 


	2. Hungers and Needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, this chapter took a completely different turn than expected. Am I satisfied? Possibly. Far too tired to tell at the moment. If my mind changes there's always room for editing, but for now, please enjoy chapter two!

Hawke had never been a light sleeper, but today was different. It was the little things that stirred him from his slumber. The crackling of embers in his ears, the faint glow of the fire dancing behind his eyelids, the warmth of a blanket snug around his bare chest. The mage grumbled to himself as he shifted, rolling onto his side to cradle his lover close, only to be greeted with a dull ache that shot through his ribs. “Ah,” he gasped, sucking in a sharp breath as his face twisted into a grimace.

“Love?”

Hawke blinked, his vision shifting to focus on the figure that now knelt at his side. Within moments he recognized the deep, worried creases above the man’s brow, confirming it to be none other than his Anders. “Morning,” he mumbled drowsily, a faint grin tugging at his lips, “is breakfast ready yet?”

Anders’ features remained stern, gentle hands rolling Hawke onto his back. “Are you alright, love?” he murmured, honey brown eyes darting warily across his body. Hawke replied with a sluggish bob of his head, reaching to trace over his sensitive side. His fingertips met with a long, fine groove, a slight tinge of pain ghosting along where he brushed. Anders hummed bitterly, chasing Hawke’s curious hand away with his own. “Don’t touch it,” he scolded, a sigh escaping past his lips. “I’m not quite done healing you yet.”

Hawke scoffed at Anders’ fussing. “Yes,  _mom_ ,” he quipped back, obeying and turning to fixate his eyes on his surroundings. “A cave?” he asked, noticing the way the light gleamed off the moist, dark walls.

Anders nodded. “Not too far off from the lake,” he answered, turning to retrieve something left by the fire.

Hawke wrinkled his nose, the smell of whatever Anders was fetching stirring a low rumble in the pit of his stomach. “Is that…”

Anders placed a dish at his side, the aroma being that of a well cooked trout. The mage’s lips creased into a warm smile. “Yes, indeed it is,” he hummed, a tender hand slipping behind Hawke’s back in order to help him sit. With the gentle aid of his lover, Hawke rose, his wound throbbing dully as his abdominal muscles flexed. Once he was upright, Anders brought a canteen of water to his lips. “Drink,” he murmured.

The Champion’s gaze lingered briefly over the flask, eyes flickering to meet his lover’s. “Trying to get me drunk already, I see.” he teased with a smirk, grasping the cool metal and swallowing the liquid down with greedy gulps.

Anders chuckled a soft, whole hearted laugh. “Please, as if I’d need to intoxicate you to get what I wanted.”

Hawke hummed with amusement into the canteen before removing the tip from his lips, the back of his hand catching the droplets that dribbled from his chin. “Oh?” he chimed, leaning to close the distance between them as he placed the flask aside. “And what is it you want of me?”

Anders’ brows twitched upward, lips curling gently, a shallow breath escaping him in the form of a wispy laugh. “I wan’t…” he chuckled, his voice low, throaty, like the purr of a cat, thumb lifting to graze Hawke’s lower lip. “I want you to eat something, Hawke.”

Hawke had obeyed the touch, lips parting eagerly for Anders, only to purse into a disappointed frown. “Is that all?” he huffed, face retreating from the caress as a plate of food was placed in his lap. “How disappointing.” The Champion eyed his meal indifferently, brow quirking. “And since when did we get fishing poles?”

Anders had been admiring his lover’s pouty demeanor when the question braced his ears, his smile suddenly wavering as eyes danced towards the cave walls. He exhaled sharply, the palm of his hand cupping the back of his neck. “Well, it turns out that I..or, uh, _Justice_ ,” he corrected, lips wrapping around the name with a hint of distaste, “had managed to fry a _lot_ more than just a single templar…”

Hawke blinked, eyes narrowing slightly. “The electricity?” he questioned, a brow arching in disbelief. He recalled the memory vaguely, the waters erupting with sparks, _Anders_ erupting with sparks…

A crease formed at Hawke’s temples. "So the whole lake...?"

Anders answered with a reluctant nod, eyes cautiously trailing back to meet Hawke’s. From what Hawke could understand, Anders’ relationship with Justice was, at best, complex. The mage could no longer tell where he ended and where the spirit began. Their binding had left Anders’ mind muddled, warped by a crippled lust for vengeance, a lust born from his lover’s rage. Hawke ran his tongue across his lips, eyes shifting down towards his plate. “Probably explains why it’s a bit overcooked,” the Champion chuckled, picking at the greyish flesh before shoving a bite into his mouth. Justice was a conversation they would have, yes, but not one they’d share over dinner.

Anders attempted to twitch his lips into a smile, “Yeah,” he murmured, eyes darting away from the sight of Hawke scarfing down his food. “Hopefully it’s still edible.”

Hawke snorted, the back of his palm rising to his lips to keep food from spraying out. “Yeah,” he mumbled, mouth full, “ lets try _not_ to inflict your injured lover with food poisoning.” He eventually swallowed, a loud, exasperated sigh escaping his lips as he gave Anders a big ol’ thumbs up.

Anders huffed at the ridiculous sight, shaking his head as a smile inched across his lips. “I swear, Hawke…”

Hawke flashed the mage a quick wink before turning his attention back towards his food. He continued to eat noisily, pausing only to remove the occasional bone or two. It wasn’t long until he noticed Anders’ staring longingly his direction, or more specifically, his plate’s direction. “Have you eaten yet?” Hawke asked, brow arching as he picked at his teeth.

Anders responded with a slight shake of his head. “No, not yet,” he answered, shifting so he could sit more comfortably next to Hawke. “I had to make sure you weren't going to die on me first.”

A low hum thrummed in the back of Hawke’s throat. It wasn’t Anders’ mother henning that concerned the mage, more so the self sacrificing nature that seemed to come almost too easily for him. The Champion scoffed, the corners of his mouth pulling into a faint smirk. “You worry too much,” he chided, staring down at his plate before scooping another large bite into his mouth. “Besides,” he muttered, mouth brimming with food, “starving yourself won’t heal my wounds.” Hawke then paused, swallowing as a wicked grin crept upon his lips. “But _blood magic…_ ”

Anders’ lips pursed into a frown, brows knitting as he stared at Hawke’s smug expression. “Maker’s breath, Hawke, you know that’s not funny.”

Hawke shrugged, a smile still dancing on his lips. “My point is that you should eat something,” he said, tilting his head towards the troubled mage. “Go get yourself some fish,” he pressed, nodding towards the fire. “It’s surprisingly not as bad as it looks.”

Anders’ stern gaze continued to linger on Hawke, though the rumbling of his stomach eventually go the better of him. With a hefty sigh, he returned to the fire, dishing himself his own plate of fish before returning to Hawke’s side. “Satisfied?” the mage quipped, crossing his legs and placing his plate in his lap.

“Oh, you know me,” Hawke crooned, sucking the flavor from his fingers as he met Anders’ gaze. “I’m _never_ satisfied.”

Anders’ blinked at the sight, an unwelcome flush ghosting across his cheeks. He shifted as he cleared his throat with a husky laugh, eyes flickering towards his plate. “Clearly,” he hummed, picking at his meal. “Living amongst the wilds hasn’t changed you in the slightest.”

A slight grin teased at Hawke’s lips, his brow arching with curiosity “And it has you?”

Anders wavered at the question, a ready bite dangling inches from his lips. Hawke watched his features tentatively, the way the creases formed at his temples, the way he wetted his lips before speaking. “I’m not sure,” the mage murmured, pushing the food all too willingly into his mouth. He chewed thoroughly, slowly. It was only after he swallowed did his eyes shift to meet Hawke’s, the thoughts swimming behind them muting his practiced smile. “ _Have_ I changed?”

Hawke’s smirk withered under the loaded question, though he refused to squirm beneath it. “Everyone changes,” he said, voice soft, but stern. Anders’ suffering had not slipped past him unnoticed. He was aware of his struggles, his burdens, the things he decided he had to shoulder alone, things that he never had to shoulder alone. “We just have to try to make sure it’s for the better.”

Silence enveloped Anders, a crestfallen gaze weighing at his features. He looked aged, weathered, as if their conversation alone had robbed him of years of his life. Eventually he nodded, a shaky breath escaping past his lips as he pushed his plate aside. “Lay back,” he ordered, rising to his knees at Hawke’s side. “I need to look at that wound again.”

Hawke’s brow furrowed at the sudden shift within his lover, a shift he was all too familiar with. “There’s no need,” he assured him, rolling his shoulders with a satisfying ‘pop’. “I’m stitched up, good as new.”

Anders shook his head, lips pursing taught. “You didn’t see what kind of shape you were in after I carried you here,” he retorted, hand reaching for the empty plate in Hawke’s lap. “You didn’t see all the blood.”

“I’ve seen plenty of blood,” Hawke quipped, golden eyes narrowing as he gazed at Anders. “I’ve seen enough blood to last a lifetime,” he continued, voice becoming tinged with annoyance, “enough blood to know that this cave will not be my crypt, enough blood to know that…”

“Hawke…”

“ _Anders_ ,” Hawke interrupted, arms drawing across his chest. “You can’t just...”

“ _Hawke_ ,” Anders pressed, features twisting into a trying scowl. The bitter expression shocked the Champion, causing his face to soften under the mage’s stern gaze. Anders then leaned forward to press a firm hand against his lover’s shoulder, clearly refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer. “Lay back,” he muttered, voice thick and raw with command, “let me do my job. Let me heal you.”

Hawke's flesh steamed at the touch, the authority in Anders’ voice sending a strange mix of arousal and disgust teeming across his skin. This was different than before, he thought, struggling against the force that weighed him down. Or was it?

Anders had always been like this, dodging Hawke’s questions, refusing to let him in, to help him understand. Ever since the chantry. “Stop it, Anders,” Hawke growled, his arms bracing the mage’s shoulders in return, a slight pain beginning to throb at his side. “This isn’t funny. Quit it."

Anders shook his head bitterly, a low, guttural hum thrumming from his throat. “Why must you be so stubborn,” he breathed, free hand sharply gripping Hawke’s struggling arms in order to pin them to the floor. “Why must you be so difficult?”

A sharp breath escaped Hawke as his grip was torn from Anders’ shoulders, his nerves teeming as a tearing sensation ached at his side. The Champion clenched his teeth tight, sucking in air as he stared up at Anders with grimace. Hawke wasn’t some toy Anders could simply patch up or fuck whenever he felt guilty, no. Hawke was a man, his lover, a person who could help ease his pain, ease both of their pain. “Anders...:” he wheezed, his chest heaving from the throbbing at his side. .

“Hush,” Anders chided ignorantly, the mage swinging his right leg over his lover’s pinned body, situating himself to straddle his waist. “Let me do this.”

Hawke attempted to writhe out from under Anders’ hips, but the weight was too much. His struggling sent sharp spasms throbbing against his ribs, the ache robbing him of his breath. “Anders,” he choked, the pain causing his vision to blur, “Anders, you’re making it…”

Hawke felt a sudden warmth trickle down his side, his body stilling as the pain thrummed and coursed, his chest falling more and more shallow. Slowly, he arched his neck, noticing the crimson trail painted across his ribs. “I’m bleeding…” he murmured, eyes shifting back to stare up at Anders. “Anders,” Hawke breathed, his voice soft, but clear, “I’m bleeding.”

Feeling the resistance wane beneath him, Anders’ attention suddenly shifted, his eyes meeting Hawke’s as shallow breaths escaped his lips. His gaze then fell to his lover’s side, pupils dilating under the sight of the opened wound. “Maker...:” he breathed, the word barely being able to form on his quivering lips. “Maker, what have I done…”

Hawke watched as tears began to swell at the corners of Anders’ eyes, his shaky hands retreating from Hawke's wrists. "Forgive me," he croaked, instinctively turning away from Hawke's lingering eyes. "I never meant, I never wanted..."

Hawke reached for his lover's trembling hand, pulling him back. Anders was always so afraid, so determined to protect Hawke, to heal him, save him, when in reality it was he who needed to save himself. "It's alright," Hawke breathed, his voice humming softly. With a gentle tug, he guided Anders' palm towards his side, flinching as the hand met his sticky flesh. “Fixing me won’t fix yourself,” he murmured, his free hand reaching to cup Anders' face. Anders dipped into the touch, eyes heavy with all his past grief, grief Hawke was more than prepared to swallow. The Champion let out a short breath, a slight smile curling upon his lips. “If it was that easy, I’d try to get myself killed more often.”

Hot tears streamed down Anders' face as he let out a sputtered laugh, Hawke's thumb brushing across his stubbled cheek to catch where they fell. "You’re right," he murmured, mana surging through his quivering palm. "You’re right."

A soft, blue light glowed from the mage’s hand, magic slowly working to knit the torn flesh. Hawke sighed deeply at the sensation, his nerves teeming with relief, eyes rolling back before fluttering shut. It was a feeling one could easily become addicted to. All of your pain, all of your suffering, simply washed away with the simple touch of another. He could see how it served as Anders’ crutch.

Anders steadily removed his hand from his Hawke's side, a thin layer of crimson still coating his palm. Hawke's scar had completely vanished, leaving nothing but the bloodied hand print from his lover's touch. "There," Ander's whispered, his voice wispy, hoarse. "Good as new."

Hawke's hand trailed down his lover's face, his stubble ticking the inside of his palm. His fingers ghosted over his lips before slinking down the flesh of his neck, making their way down Anders' body before stilling at his side. Tears still threatening to brim out from Anders’ eyes, though he looked grateful, relieved. "See?" Hawke murmured, brows arching as his lips twisted into a winning smile. "I told you I was okay."

Another sputtering laugh tumbled out from Anders' lips, his body bowing as he buried his face into the crook of Hawke's neck. "Never again," he stammered, warm tears wetting Hawke's neck. "Never again will I hurt you."

Hawke wrapped his arms tight around his lover's back, cradling him as he shook against his chest. He stared up at the high ceiling of the cave, a vacant expression etched into his features, watching as the light of the fire flickered at the darkness above. _Never again_. The words echoed within Hawke's mind.

If only what Anders said could have been the truth.

A sharp breath suddenly escaped from Hawke’s lips, the abrupt exhale aiding in retrieving his senses. Anders’ tongue had begun trailing along Hawke’s neck, his lips pressing against him hard, deep, sucking and nipping at the flesh.

“A-anders,” Hawke managed to breathe, stifling the groan that yearned to rise from the back of his throat. Anders grinded hungrily against Hawke, writhing with need, each roll of his hips becoming more determined, more ravenous.

“Hawke,” he murmured, his voice drenched with heat as he nipped at his ear. “Hawke, I need you…”

Hawke could feel the arousal coursing through him as well as Anders, blurring his thoughts into a muddled mix of resistance and lust. He was right, he did need him, but not in the way he was thinking. Hawke wavered, his eyes still staring into the blackness of the cave’s canopy. It was like staring into the mouth of a beast, it’s jaws stretched open wide and ready to swallow him, no, them both, whole.

Suddenly, another groan scraped its way past Hawke’s throat, Anders’ body shifting against him in just the right way. Hawke was no stranger to temptation, but sadly, a repetitive victim of it. Almost instinctively his hands slipped down to grip Anders’ waist, grasping him firmly as he bucked into him with equal desire, head arching back with a relieved sigh.

Anders groaned in approval, a hand snaking upwards to tangle through Hawke’s hair. “Take me,” he grunted, his voice breathy and dripping with need. “All of me.”

Hawke obeyed, his hands darting up from his lover’s waist to slip beneath his chest, forcing Anders upright with a strong push. Anders complied to the touch, rising before hastily gripping at his robes, pulling at any direction where the cloth would loosen its hold around him.

Hawke then slinked his hands beneath his lover’s robes, fumbling clumsily with his trousers. He could feel Anders’ member straining against the fabric, sending a rush through Hawke that teemed across his skin. Eventually the cloth gave way, Hawke’s hungry fingers clawing to yank the trousers down past Anders’ thighs.

Anders had managed to free his upper body from his robes, casting them aside as he arched his back, dipping inward to allow Hawke easier access. Sure enough, the fabric cooperated, Anders’ lower body now left free to explore.

Hawke hastily removed the blanket that separated them, cherishing the feeling of Anders’ bare body meeting his. Anders then shifted back to sit on Hawke’s thighs, slender fingers wrapping around the girth of his lover. A shaky breath left Hawke as Anders began to stroke him, pleasure steadily coursing through his member as he increased pressure and pace.

“Maker,” Hawke breathed, hands grasping needily at Anders’ backside. He squeezed his ass firmly, hands spreading Anders’ cheeks, causing the man to let out his own breathless moan. Anders then brought his fingers to his mouth, their tips still dyed with Hawke’s blood. Unphased, Anders began to suck on the digits, wetting them thoroughly as he stared down at his lover.

The sight sent a shudder running down the length of Hawke’s body. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, breathless, a hand freeing from Anders’ ass in order to trail down his chest. Anders smirked coyly at the compliment, removing the fingers from his mouth to tease at his entrance. "What was it you always say?” he asked, “ 'I aim to please?'"

Hawke's lips parted into a broad grin, hand slipping towards Anders' member so he could pleasure him with a firm squeeze. Anders gasped at the sudden contact, finger slipping inside his muscle as he pumped into Hawke's large hand. Hawke chuckled at the sight, at how dreadfully lewd it was. He brought his thumb to tease over Anders' head, a bead of precum brimming out from the tip.

"Hawke," Anders' whimpered, his head arching back as he stared down with a lustful gaze. Hawke grunted, his hands lifting to Anders’ sides to pull him in closer. The mage’s breath hitched with the sudden movement, his hips now aligned with Hawke’s. Without hesitation he brought his fingers once more to his mouth, drenching them before gripping Hawke’s throbbing member. Carefully, he teased the head against his entrance, Hawke’s shallow breathing hot in his ear.

“I love you,” Anders murmured, breath hitching as Hawke’s tip began to stretch his entrance. “I love you with all of my heart.”

Hawke groaned at the feeling of Anders contracting around him, the sensitivity nearly driving him mad. “And I love you,” he uttered, tongue darting to graze Anders’ neck.  “More than you could ever imagine.”

Gradually, Anders began to take him in, the sharp sting of Hawke’s size causing a ragged breath to escape him. Hawke’s nails dug into his lover’s flesh with need, his lips sucking at his throat with the occasional hungry love bite. _Don’t stop_ , he pleaded within his mind. _Maker, please don't stop_. Anders' body shuddered under the burn of Hawke’s grip, his hips shifting obediently in order to take the rest of him in.

A low hum sung from the back of Hawke’s throat at the sensation, head arching back as his grip tightened around Anders, encouraging him to move. Anders complied eagerly, hips rocking gently against Hawke, the burn slowly melting into hot pleasure.

“Fuck,” Anders breathed, slowly rising as he adjusted to the movement, his hands gripping Hawke’s thighs as he continued to ride him. Anders’ hair had become slightly matted from their fumbling, his ponytail loose and messy as it bobbed, strands of hair falling in front of his face. His eyes were lidded with his lips parted, shallow breaths and moans tumbling out with every sway of his hips.

For Hawke, the feeling of being inside his lover was like no other, the sensation nothing less than euphoric. Each rock, shift, sway of Anders hips, each movement sending a course of pleasure shooting through the his body. It was moments like these that he could get lost in forever.

Hungry for more, Hawke abruptly sat upright, sending Anders tumbling onto his back. Within mere moments he was situated between his lover’s legs, member throbbing in his hand as he pushed into him once more. A sharp cry escaped past Anders’ lips at the sudden entry, arms wrapping around Hawke’s neck and gripping him tight as he thrusted into him. “Hawke,” he moaned, his voice reduced to nothing more than a breathless whimper.  “Ah, Hawke…”

The feeling was hot and raw, each thrust a sense of euphoria that constricted and convulsed around every nerve in Hawke’s body. His movements were irregular, sporadic, hips relentlessly shifting in order to find that one spot, that one moment where-

“Ah-!”

Anders’ lips parted abruptly, his mouth left agape as a sharp cry rose and clung to the back of his throat, eyes wide and swimming with pleasure. “Th-there,” he stammered, grip tightening around Hawke’s neck as his hips bucked upward. “There, again!”

Hawke was quick to obey, triggering another wave of euphoria to wash over Anders, his nails digging into his lover’s skin. “F-fuck,” he choked out, his voice battered by the pleasure that was being driven into him.

Hawke could feel his own pleasure blooming around him, building up, pushing him towards his edge. “Anders,” he groaned back, a hand freeing to grip his lover’s neglected member. He pumped him vigorously, his rhythm matching that of his own rocking hips. “Come with me,” he begged.

Anders was all too eager to comply. His pleasure was white hot, all of the stimulation causing his head to spin. He stared back at Hawke with watered eyes, yearning, aching for release. 

Hawke’s breath began to hitch in his throat, his face dipping towards Ander’s in order to lock with his lips. His tongue darted in freely, the feeling familiar, warm. Anders moaned deeply into his lover’s mouth, his pleasure now at its peak. Hawke groaned as well, his lips parting from Ander’s as he thrusted for the final time, a shaky moan surging from him as he rode out the sensation that shot through his body. Anders too rocked from his orgasm, hips twitching as his stomach was covered in his own sticky heat.

For a few moments the lovers just stared at each other breathlessly, Hawke eventually slipping out from between Anders’ legs to fall to his side with a dull thud. Anders chuckled as he thumped beside him, his head arching to the side in order to gaze into his lover’s eyes. “Maker, that was well needed,” he breathed, a broad grin stretching across his features, but Hawke was not listening. _Never again_ , he thought, chuckling.

  
What a dangerous promise. 


	3. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, chapter 3 here. Another unexpected turn of events featured within this fic, I guess I'm just full of ideas. Anyway, hopefully this chapter serves as a nice window into Hawkes world. Thank you and enjoy!

Hawke’s breath burned in the back of his throat, each ragged inhale sharp, biting, as if he was sucking in needles. _Don’t stop_ , he barked at himself, teeth drawing over a bloodied lip. _Run_. His blood was singing, no, screaming, the thunderous pounding of his heart drowning out the sound of boots smacking against the rocky terrain. He could feel his pursuers closing in on him, their hot, sticky breath bracing the back of his neck. “ _Hawke_ ,” they whispered, his name uttered with an overbearing sweetness that sent his skin crawling. “ _Hawke_.”

Hawke squeezed his eyes shut, the sting of sweat teeming behind his eyelids. “No!” he shouted, his voice desperate, heated, afraid. Oh Maker, how he was afraid. He could feel their arms reaching towards him, hands like talons, or the twisted, gnarled branches of a dying tree. Their grips were tight around his arms, his shoulders, nails sinking into his flesh as if to rip it from his very bones. “No!” he cried out once more, his voice hoarse and cracking. He never asked for, never wanted this. Never in his life did he ever deserve such a fate as this. He could feel his world crumbling as it shook around him, nothing but rubble, ash, the voices continuing to chant his name. “ _Hawke, Hawke, Hawke…_ ”

“Hawke!”

The mage’s eyes snapped open, a sharp breath hitching in his throat as his arms reached to brace whatever had its hands about him. He felt his grip meet flesh, vulnerable, a strong pulse throbbing beneath his palms. “Hawke,” the figured murmured, the voice sending vibrations teeming across his skin. Hawke blinked, eyes shifting to focus on the face that loomed over him.

Their hair was long, matted, blonde, the locks draping around their features like aged curtains. Two eyes gazed back at him, both a deep amber, fine creases wrinkling around their corners. A thick scruff coated their face and sculpted their cheekbones, though the look made them appear ragged, worn. Their lips were parted, corners dipping into a troubled frown as shallow breaths escaped and brushed against Hawke’s face. Hawke’s features softened, the familiar image sparking his memory. It was...was it Anders?

It was then that Hawke noticed his hands were wrapped around the man’s jugular, his grip bobbing along with their throat as he swallowed in order to speak. “Hawke,” Anders repeated, arms lifting from his lover’s shoulders to cup the hands around his neck. “Hawke, love, it’s me. You can let go.” A shaky breath escaped Hawke’s lips. It was Anders. He nearly…

Hawke’s grip loosened, quivering hands guided by his lover’s as he folded them across his chest. “You had a bad dream,” Anders murmured, his eyes scanning Hawke’s troubled features. “I thought it would be best to wake you.”

Hawke swallowed, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. His dreams in the fade rarely resulted in nightmares, not ever since he was a small child. Dreaming was often a blissful experience, but this, what he had seen was haunting. “Yeah,” he breathed, his voice a cracked whisper. “Yeah, alright.”

Hawke rose gradually, gaze falling to his lap as Anders’ arm hooked around his shoulder. His eyes traced over the rust colored blanket that was draped across his lap, his palms gliding over the fabric, allowing his senses to adapt to reality. Anders’ face dipped in close to his, the mage’s eyes swimming with worry. “You started tossing fitfully, mumbling things. I had gotten up early to pack so you could sleep, but…”

“Anders,” Hawke murmured, his gaze shifting to meet his lover’s, a warm smile spreading across his features. “I’m fine.” Hawke leaned to brush his lips against Anders’ cheek, his coarse hairs meeting his own with a familiar tickle. He exhaled as he sat back, lips still curled into a faint grin.

Yeah, he was fine.

Anders’ face flushed faintly under the gesture, his hand giving Hawke’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. He stared back at his lover, eyes dancing across the mage’s features as his teeth drew over his lower lip. “If you say so,” he finally uttered, a soft smile tugging at his lips, “but that isn’t going to stop me from checking for signs of possession.”

Hawke scoffed, his smile parting to form a broad grin. “Like I could ever stop you from doing anything.”

“Exactly,” Anders retorted with a smirk, chuckling lightly as he shifted to kneel in front of Hawke with his palms turned outward. The mage then took a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed as his body began to surge with mana, the power swelling in his open palms. Hawke watched as his lover concentrated on the spell, the way the corners of his lip twitched, the ever so faint creasing of his brow. Eventually a soft blue light began to fill Anders’ hands, his eyes flitting open to meet Hawke’s.

Hawke nodded with a consenting grunt, body fidgeting ever so slightly as Anders’ hands inched towards his bare chest. He knew he had nothing to fear, he had resisted against the nightmare with every breath, yet uneasiness still managed to swell in his gut under the cold glow of Anders’ palms. _Breathe_ , he told himself, shutting his eyes with a shaky breath. _Just breathe_.

A sharp inhale whistled through Hawke’s teeth at the touch of his lover, body recoiling slightly. He could feel the magic pulsing through him, like a dull throb of a second heartbeat, but that wasn’t what had startled him. Anders’ flesh had been surprisingly cold against his own.

Ignoring Hawke’s fidgeting, Anders continued to work, his hands gliding over his lover’s body. Hawke could feel each of his fingers, the calluses that marred them, the rough grooves catching against his skin as they trailed up his chest. The corners of his lips twitched into a slight smile as he felt the digits begin to graze his chesthairs, the tickle of the touch triggering a soft, breathy laugh from the Champion.

“Oh, hush you,” he heard Anders murmur, though he could read the smile beneath his words.

“You’re just jealous because you can't grow your own,” Hawke quipped back, one eye peaking open just in time to catch his lover’s broad grin before it was erased by a practiced furrowing of his brow. He never did like to smile much when he worked.

“There,” Anders sighed, sitting back on his calves as he gave Hawke one final look-over. “Possession free.”

Hawke let out his own breath as Anders pulled away, bringing a hand to rub along the stimulated flesh of his chest. “I guess that makes one of us," he mumbled with a chuckle, eyes flitting open wide to meet his lover’s as soon as the words escaped his lips. _Shit, why did he say that?_

Anders’ lips pursed into a slight frown at the comment, his throat bobbing as he swallowed his distaste. After years of Hawke’s teasing it had become considerably harder to prod at the mage’s nerves, though jabs at Justice nearly always seemed to split them right open. Luckily, Anders was willing to let the remark slide.

“Come on,” he said, rising to a feet with a small grunt. “We should try and get away from this bloody lake as soon as possible.”

                                                                                                 *** **  
**

Hawke still wasn’t used to it, being constantly on the move, that is. Early evenings and even earlier mornings, always avoiding the main roads, seemingly stumbling forward like lost children into the unknown. He never had been good with directions. It was often Varric who would mumble, “doesn’t that boulder seem familiar?” followed by grumbling of one gloomy elf assuring the party that it was, indeed, the same rock they had passed three times already. Like Hawke would know his way around every damn cave near Kirkwall. He was a mage, not a miner. Luckily for him, he was no longer bearing the weight of the title  ‘group leader.’ He was about as experienced with the world outside of Kirkwall as he was with Orlesian politics. This was, without a doubt, Anders’ domain.

Anders spoke often of his days as a rogue apostate back in their early years, especially when there was enough drink to go around. Even before he became a Grey Warden there were stories to be told. Countless escapes from the circle, fending off templars, darkspawn, sometimes a mix of both. He was no stranger to living as a wanted man, even less so to leading a life of adventure. Hawke had never been the one to dump all of his faith into a single person, but with Anders he found it all too easy. After all, he was the only thing he had left to lose.

The rocky shore of the lake slowly ebbed away into slick, muddy valleys, the moist terrain sprawling out from the nearby forest’s edge. Hawke was less than thrilled to go trudging through muck in the wee hours of the morning, but Anders was relentless with his need to distance themselves from the lake, or more specifically, the bodies resting at the bottom of it. By the time the two of them had reached solid land they were caked with mud up to their calves, sludge sprayed across their robes like paint on a canvas.

Anders groaned irritably, tugging at the soiled fabric. “And I thought bloodstains were bothersome…”

Even Hawke couldn’t hold back the grimace that crept along his features at the sight of the stains. “Robes: clearly not meant for off-roading,” he grumbled, hoisting the fabric from his waist as he trekked up to the forest’s edge.

Anders snorted, joining Hawke as he carried his robes through the last of the muck. “Clearly.”

Hawke faired through the forest with far greater ease. Occasionally the brush would catch at his pack, stopping him in his tracks as he yanked at the branches, but after a few moments of slight discomfort, was released to catch up to Anders’ heels. He never liked venturing too far off by himself, despite the reckless behaviour he was renowned for back in Kirkwall. Sure, darting into side streets and sewers had their dangers, but at least they were predictable. Thugs, overgrown arachnids, the occasional blood mage. The towering canopy of a dense forest was anything but predictable. Maker knows what lurked in the shadows, watching the mages’ every step, leering for the moment to make a jump for their throats.

After a good few hours of hiking, the two lovers eventually stumbled across a stream, a more than adequate site to make camp for lunch. Anders set down his pack with a heavy sigh, encouraging Hawke to do the same with a loud ‘thud’. “Finally,” the Champion, mumbled, loosening his robes’ hold around his waist as he bumbled towards the water’s edge. “Now I can wash this blighted thing.”

Anders grunted in agreement, arching his back to stretch his weary muscles. “I’m going to go gather wood for a fire, I’ll be close by,” he said, waving towards Hawke as he scanned the surrounding brush. "Yell if you need anything."

Hawke gestured back with the weak flail of his hand, muttering an irritable ‘okay’ under his breath before shedding his robes. The sooner the muck was gone the better.

A slight chill crawled across his skin as a breeze rustled through the trees, the Champion’s hands drawing over his arms as he situated himself on his knees by the water. He dipped the cloth carefully into the stream, the rocks that littered its shallow bottom serving well as a washboard. Once satisfied, Hawke searched for a low hanging branch, draping his robes out to dry before taking a knife to his boots on the trunk of a fallen tree.

The mud had caked and dried hard to the leather, making scraping the crud off far more difficult. It matched how Hawke felt, really, physically and mentally. He didn’t talk about his feelings much, if ever. It always seemed draining. Sometimes it just felt like all the shit in his life was stuck to his skin, imbedded in his pores, in his mind. You couldn't just scrub it all off after a single talk, or maybe even after a few. Some stains just never quite wash out. Of course he was thinking of far more substantial things than just muck on his robes. Lothering, Bethany, his mother, Kirkwall. The ashes of their memory clung to the back of his throat like a sickness, a constant itch that Hawke refused to satisfy with a cough.

A throaty growl thrummed in the back of Hawke’s throat, his brow furrowing has his strokes became more vicious. He just wanted to chip it all away. He wanted to be clean of it. He never asked for this.

“Maker, Hawke, you’re scraping mud off your boots, not scalping a templar.”

Hawke’s head jolted upright, body tensing as he twirled his knife outward towards the voice. He soon sighed at the sight he was met with, shoulders slumping as the blade loosened in his grip. “You startled me.”

Anders stood a few feet in front of him, arms full with kindling as he arched a puzzled brow. “And you say I’m paranoid,” he muttered, a slight grin teasing his lips.

Hawke let out a breathy laugh, palm grazing along his stubble before trailing down the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry, I was uh…” Hawke eyed his boot distastefully before tossing it aside, “distracted.”

Anders placed the wood down with the rest of their supplies, tossing a few branches into a pile. “Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he said, head arching back to watch Hawke as he worked, eyes narrowed slightly. “Is it because of this morning? The nightmare?”

A bitter taste crept across Hawke’s tongue at the mention of his dream, his mouth dry. “Yeah,” he muttered before swallowing, hoping to avoid further discussion on the matter. “I’m sure I’ll feel better once I eat something.”

Anders’ tongue drew over his lips, a few strands of his matted hair falling in front of his face, his gaze lingering on Hawke. Anders could always tell when something was bothering him, probably due to the fact they always tried their damndest not to burden each other with their problems. A truly beautiful display of emotional dysfunction.

Hawke met his eyes without fail, brows arching as his lips twitched indifferently. Even if Anders decided to prod, he’d make sure he’d get nothing out of him. It was too early for this shit.

After a moment Anders eventually stood upright with a sigh, gaze flickering towards the kindling as he sparked a flame from his fingertips. Hawke breathed. _Thank the Maker_.

                                                                                                ***

It didn’t take long to get the fire going, the warmth of the flames and food in Hawke’s belly leaving him far less irritable than he had been earlier. Anders had taken notice, now resting close beside him with his head leaning against the Champion’s shoulder. Hawke’s fingers snaked freely through his lover’s hair, digits kneading small circles into his scalp that triggered a low rumble from his throat. Anders’ scruff tickled against Hawke’s bare skin, his purring causing the hairs to quiver as they brushed him. Hawke leaned in to press his lips against his lover’s forehead, the gentle kiss causing Anders to squirm in closer against Hawke. Hawke chuckled.

“Like that, huh?” he teased, allowing his nails to drag through his lover’s hair. Anders murmured something inaudible, turning to bury his face into Hawke’s chest. He couldn't blame him.

In between healing Hawke’s wounds and setting and packing up camp, the mage had had little time for rest, not that it wasn’t completely of his own free will. Anders was the kind of man who’d work until his limbs fell off. The passion that drove him was something Hawke would never posses, nor possibly ever understand. Perhaps that was why he found it so easy to fall for him. Perhaps he was meant to be his better half.

_Snap._

Hawke’s head perked upright at the sudden sound of a twig breaking against his ears, eyes shifting over the brush that surrounded them. Wary, he stilled his breath and listened.

The the crackling of the fire, water trickling through the stream, birds chirping high above in the canopy. It was possible that it had just been Hawke’s imagination, he had been far from sober with his troubled thoughts, after all. It wasn’t until another sharp snap rang in his ears did the Champion feel an uneasiness rise from the pit of his gut, his head whipping sharply towards his right.

Hawke was met with nothing more than the rustling of bushes, though the sight of the quivering leaves doing nothing to ease his fears. “Anders,” he spoke with a harsh whisper, shaking his drowsy lover’s shoulder. “Anders, wake up.”

Anders groaned irritably from the touch, his head butting against Hawke’s chest in protest. Clearly he was in no shape to go anywhere soon. Suddenly, a figure darted past the in the corner of Hawke’s vision, his eyes catching the glimpse of dark tail before it vanished into the brush. A beast?

Hawke managed to remove the sleeping Anders from his side, rising with caution before slowly sidestepping towards his staff, eyes unmoving from the brush. He had fought strange creatures before, but what awaited him within the dark of the forest’s thicket he could not know. Once close enough, Hawke quickly lunged forward to snatch up his staff, the power coursing through his palm a much needed source of confidence. He took a step forward as he twirled his weapon, painting the air around it with fire before driving it into the dirt with sizzling pop of sparks. Whatever Hawke was faced with, it would not take him without a fight.

It was then that the Champion noticed the bright yellow eyes peering back at him from the brush, their pupils small and hungry. There were two, no, four, six…

Hawke’s breath caught in his throat as he took a step back, his staff angled as if to shield his body. Whatever was leering at the Champion from behind the dark, they had numbers.

Numbers Hawke was less than likely to beat.


	4. Flame's Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke has a trend of being the damsel in distress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many things planned for this fic, so little time. Here, have some feels and plot development while I try and get my shit together.

Fear is a catalyst, a motivator. It sparks action, boldness, or in Hawke’s case, actual, literal sparks. Most people would advise that you think before you act. Hawke, however, always prided himself in doing the exact opposite. Power flickered and spat from the tip of his staff, the weapon twirling with ease in his nimble hands. Sparks crackled before forking into bolts of electric fire, bolts that Hawke shot blindly into the brush as he swung his staff forward. Lightning killed most things, right? 

The light erupted in the bushes with a bright blaze. Leaves and branches were coated with roaring flames that snarled and bit, causing Hawke to stumble back from the sheer heat of it all. After a few brief moments of cowering, his head eventually lifted, the slightest of grins creeping across the Champion's lips. _Yeah, that’s right_ , he thought smugly, brushing himself off as he gazed back at the inferno. Awesome Mage: 1, Dumb Beasts in The Forest: 0.

As if things were ever so simple.

Hawke’s hand suddenly stilled, brow furrowing as he peered closer into the burning brush. The flames were shifting, moving, as if they had taken a form of their own. It wasn’t long until Hawke could make out snouts, pairs of hungry eyes, pointed ears folded back, upper lips curled to show rows of fanged teeth. The mage’s breath hitched. The snarling had not been from fire, but from beasts that were now coated with it.

The three large creatures slowly emerged from the blaze, flames flickering as they clung to their smoky black furs. Hawke could now see that they were wolves, large heads low to the ground and bobbing as they lumbered forward. Two of them had attempted to prowl around the mage’s sides, flanking him as the largest of the pack kept Hawke’s attention with it’s menacing gaze. Clearly this was more than the Champion had bargained for.

Hawke’s grip on his staff was slick with sweat, eyes darting in all directions as he inched backward from the beasts. Wolves? Sure, no problem. Giant, demonic fire wolves? Yeah, a bit of a problem. Instinctively Hawke’s head whipped towards Anders, his lover still curled up by the log they had been resting on. He couldn’t afford to involve him in this, not when he was already so weary. This was a fight he’d have to win on his own.

The first attack came from Hawke’s right. The wolf lunged forward in attempt to grip the mage’s heel, the blaze around the beast’s face flaring with the bite, flames threatening to lick at Hawke’s trousers as jaws snapped eagerly for his flesh. Luckily the Champion was swift, leg sharply swinging out of harm’s reach as he brought his staff down hard against the wolf’s skull. The beast snarled from the blow, recoiling as it’s fiery coat wavered in ferocity.

The wolf on his left sprung next, leaping with claws bared to rake at Hawke’s exposed side. The Champion spun his body to meet the blow, sucking in a large breath as he drew on the remaining moisture that clung to the air. Frost formed and flew from his fingers as well as his staff, a thick spike of ice impaling the wolf’s torso and spraying Hawke’s chest with crimson. The creature howled in agony, its coat of flames spitting, smoldering, dying. Hawke then jerked his arms back, sending the creature’s limp body flying into the dirt.

The Champion let out a shallow breath, twirling his staff behind him as a hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. Perhaps he’d make it through this in one piece after all.

“What in Andraste’s flaming knickers...”

Hawke’s head whipped around towards the sound of the familiar curse, his eyes falling upon Anders. The mage’s body was slumped forward, still riddled with sleep, eyes clouded and blinking as he stared at the scene before him. It wasn’t until he rubbed the drowsiness from his vision did he realize the direness of the situation, pupils dilating as they fell upon Hawke.

Hawke froze under the gaze, unsure if he should apologize for waking him or excluding him from the fight. His lips parted to speak, but before he could utter a word the wolf to his right snarled, its head snapping towards Anders’ direction before breaking into a dash.

_Shit._

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Hawke’s veins, his body lunging forward as he swung his staff with all his might. Pure force rippled from the weapon, distorting the air around it before sending the wolf hurling into a nearby tree. The impact was brutal, the sickening crunch of bones breaking muting the shrill cry from the beast’s suffering.

Satisfied with the effectiveness of the blow, Hawke turned to face his love with an eager smile, hoping to reap some sort of gratitude. As if. Instead he was met with the stern, concentrated gaze of a battle ready mage, body rigid and upright with staff in hand. Clearly Anders was not one to swoon over feats he could easily accomplish himself.

Hawke huffed out a disappointed sigh, sticking his staff into the dirt as he leaned on it for support. “Come now, at least try and look impressed,” he crooned. Anders’ eyes suddenly grew wide with shock, triggering a scoff from the Champion as his own rolled. “Okay, yeah, not _that_ impre…”

Before Hawke could finish his sentence pain shot through his body, a blistering heat bracing his back as claws sank into his shoulders. His staff flew from his hands as he stumbled forward in agony, instinctively reaching back in order to throw the intense weight that clung to him. His hands were met with flames, causing him to cry out as he recoiled, the smell of burnt flesh strong against his nostrils. _The wolf_.

He could feel his skin boiling on his back, bubbling under the heat of the creature’s belly. He could feel it’s claws straining against his muscles, threatening to rip the flesh from his bones, it’s voice thick with loathing and rage in his mind. “ _Hawke_ ,” it seethed, his named uttered as a whisper that seemed to split his skull with volume. “ _Hawke…_ ”

 _No_ , he thought, his dream flickering in his vision, the fade crumbling, crashing around him as demons clawed at his back, calling his name. “ _Hawke…_ ”

_Maker, no, no..._

“No!”

A cry, yes, but not Hawke’s own. It was Anders, a spear of ice shooting from his staff as it struck the wolf dead between the eyes. The beast was suddenly silenced, its flames evaporating almost instantly as its claws retracted from Hawke’s flesh. Its corpse hit the ground with a loud thud, followed by Hawke’s own body as he fell forward onto his chest. _Free_. The word echoed through Hawke’s mind, soothing him. _He was free_.

By the time it took for Hawke to rise to his knees Anders was by his side, hands frantically hovering over the steaming, blistered flesh that covered his back. “You blighted idiot!” the mage bristled, his voice shaking from fear as much as anger. “You blighted, fucking idiot!”

“Arent you a sweet talker,” Hawke croaked, his voice left hoarse from the pain. He flinched suddenly as Anders’ hands grazed his back, the abrupt agony of the sting twisting his face into a grimace.

“Just...just shut up,” Anders retorted, his voice becoming thick with fatigue. “Just let me fetch the lyrium potions.”

                                                                                                        ***

“Are you nearly done?” Hawke groaned, rolling his shoulders irritably. He could have sworn Anders had been working on him for hours.

“No,” the mage responded plainly, grunting as Hawke shifted beneath his hands. “And would you just hold still?” Healing magic teemed across Anders’ palms as he gripped Hawke’s shoulders. “It wouldn't take so long if you just quit your fidgeting for once.”

Hawke flinched at the contact, head arching back to gaze narrowly at his lover. “I would if you’d quit manhandling me like that,” he grumbled.

Anders scoffed, hands gingerly trailing down the length of Hawke’s back. “You’d think after years of bleeding all over my clinic you’d learn not to squirm like a child with a skinned knee each time I lay a hand on you.”

Hawke opened his mouth to speak, but his words were replaced with a low hum of approval, the cool magic easing his pain as it grazed his flesh. “I think it’s a bit unfair to compare an attack from a flaming, two-hundred pound beast to a mere scrape,” Hawke murmured drowsily, allowing his eyes to flutter closed.

Anders’ brow creased as he continued to work. “You’re right, those were not ordinary wolves,” he muttered. “Possessed by rage demons, perhaps. Would explain the flames.”

Hawke cringed at the mention of demons, recalling the splitting headache left by the creature’s whispers. The pain from its voice had nearly drowned out the stinging of his seared flesh. He didn’t know what to make of it, his dream, the attack. Hawke was usually the one to shrug these sort of things off as coincidence, but given the context, the idea that something larger was in the making was hard to shake. Hawke bit his lip, eyes flitting open to fall upon the ashes of the brush. Whatever was going on, he wouldn’t allow it to drag Anders down with him.

“Rage demons, huh?” Hawke murmured with another roll of his shoulders. “Why couldn't I have lucked out and fought some pissed off rabbits instead?”

Anders snorted. “Yeah, really. I would have much preferred tending to a back covered with fluffy bunnies than nasty burns.” Anders rolled his eyes as Hawke fidgeted, hands traveling back up towards his lover’s shoulders in order to still them.“This was far easier when you were unconscious.”

A smirk tugged at Hawke’s lips, eyes attempting to shift back to gaze at his lover. “Yeah, I bet a lot of things were,” he hummed.

Anders’ brow furrowed slightly at the innuendo, though the hint of a smile teased at his lips. “Don’t make me zap you,” he muttered.

Hawke’s lips bloomed into a parting grin, a small chuckle rising from his throat. “Zap me? Are you referring to that thing you do with my…”

A sudden shock sprung from Hawke’s side, causing him to jolt upright with a small gasp. “ _Ooow_ ,” he whined, brow furrowing as he grazed his palm over the abused flesh. “Ok, no, that was _definitely_ not the thing.”

Anders chuckled, the laughter genuine, light. “And you thought I was joking.” The mage turned to grab another bottle of lyrium, only to find he had used up the last of their supply. “Damn,” he cursed softly, turning back to his lover with a sigh. “It looks like I’ll have to patch you up with some bandages until my mana replenishes.”

Hawke nodded, his fingers delicately tracing over his shoulders. The skin ached slightly under the touch, but overall the pain was bearable. Anders worked silently as he wrapped the cloth around Hawke’s body, careful not to apply too much pressure. Hawke was aware of how hard he tried to ease his discomfort when healing him. It was true that he could cut back more on his gripping for his sake. He couldn't count how many times Anders had brought him back from the brink of death.

“I’ll…” Hawke began, but for some reason found the words stuck in his throat. Swallowing, he pushed past it. “I’ll try and be more careful from now on,” he murmured.

Anders smiled warmly, his hands slipping around Hawke’s chest as he secured the last of the bandages. “You know,” he crooned, resting his head gently on his lover’s shoulder, “for a renowned hero, I seem to always be the one swooping in and saving _you_ at the end of the day.”

Hawke grinned, his arms folding over Anders’ as he tilted into the caress. “Perhaps I can save you in other ways,” he said, murmuring softly.

Anders laughed. “You already do.”


	5. The Road Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stubborn mages be stubborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. It has been FOREVER since I've updateed this thing (again, so sorry, finals sort of took the wheel for a while) but I'm slowly starting to come back to it. For the sake of just offering SOMETHING, please take this teeny tiny chapter while I immerse myself back into this fic. Oh, and thank you so much for reading!

Traveling was difficult. It was never a picnic before, sure, but now the experience had become nothing short of unbearable. Hawke’s wounds wracked him with every footfall, shoulders aching beneath the weight of his pack, blood hot and pounding beneath his newly mended flesh. The forest itself didn't help much either. The brush snagged at his sides, sending a raw burn leaping across his skin while rocks threatened his footing with every step. Damned nature. Suddenly Varric’s past gripping didn't seem so dramatic. 

“How are you holding up, Love?”

Hawke’s eyes shifted to fall on Anders, his lover’s weighted gaze far from subtle. It was not at all surprising, however. He could feel the man’s eyes boring into him for the last mile. 

Strands of golden hair clung to the sweat of his brow, the skin creased and tense with worry. His eyes were dull and slightly hooded, lips dipping into a pursed frown as he shifted his own pack against his shoulders. By the looks of it he wasn’t faring much better. Lack of rest and mana depletion was never a good mix. Still, though, he continued to bite his lip at Hawke, his arm extending out an offer to carry his pack, an offer Hawke had already respectfully declined. 

“Easy, Anders,” Hawke murmured, gingerly placing his lover’s hand back at his side. “I’m built like an ox, remember? If anyone should be carrying someones pack, I should be taking yours.” 

Anders’ lips twitched at the gesture, his eyes following Hawke’s hand as he took his own. His gaze seemed to linger there for a short while, a breathless, shaky laugh eventually escaping him as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Funny,” he mumbled, his eyes shifting to the ground. “Justice was just telling me the same thing.” 

Hawke nodded, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Smart man,” he hummed, his arm extending towards Anders. “Give it here.”

Anders’ eyes shifted back to meet Hawke’s, his face taut with shock at the offer. He paused only momentarily, wetting his lips before responding with the slow shake of his head. “No, I-I can’t allow that. Your back is-”

“Fine,” Hawke pressed, snaking his fingers beneath Anders’ strap.

Anders squirmed mildly in protest, though eventually allowed the pack to slip from his shoulders. He watched as his lover hoisted the bag onto his back, gaze eventually falling back towards the path ahead. “You’re going to get yourself killed for the sake of my comfort,” he muttered. 

Hawke raised a brow at the remark, grunting as he adjusted the pack. “That’s never stopped you before, has it?” 

“We can’t both play the ‘sacrificial saint’,” Anders scoffed, brow knitting as he glanced back at Hawke. After a few moments his gaze began to soften, lowering his head as he returned to face forward. “Then there’s no one left to sacrifice for.”

Hawke’s lips dipped slightly, his face twitching from the smarting pain of the new weight. It was hard seeing Anders like this, clearly weary, weak, restless. It was as if helping ease his pain was simply trading it in for a new one. “Good thing I never claimed to be a saint,” he quipped, trying on a smile. He just wanted to see him smile.

A faint semblance of a laugh formed and died in the back of Anders’ throat. “True,” he near whispered, his palm grazing the back of his neck. “I suppose that’s another thing we both have in common.”


End file.
